If I Never See Your Face Again
by a pretty little liar
Summary: She watches in amazement as Stefan shows Klaus the metaphorical ropes, and she's sure of one thing: time travel isn't nearly as cool as Hollywood would have you believe. /Caroline in 1920's Chicago with Klaus, Ripper-Stefan, and Rebekah. AU-ish. Based off of S3, E3 "The End of the Affair." *On Hiatus*
1. Chapter 1

**IF I NEVER SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN  
**

**PART 1  
**

… … …

She's sent to Chicago, 1922, by a Bennett spell gone rogue.

Just to make matters worse — by the precarious hands of fate, or karma, or some other bitch of an entity, she ends up right in the company of Stefan Salvatore.

It's a small apartment; wallpaper outdated and filled ceiling to floor with some sort of small poppy flower, and big, clunky furniture that's too dark and takes up too much space for such tiny rooms fills the entire place. His back is to her, standing at the window, puffing smoke out into the open air and twiddling the cigar through his fingers.

She hears birds chirping from the windowsill, and the bright sunlight filters into the room, slashing harsh lines against Stefan's blond hair, making it look dirty and greasy and just _not _Stefan.

She glances around; praying, hoping, wishing that this is all a dream, but when she gives the skin on the back of her hand a little pinch, she mewls and bites back a groan because nope, _definitely not a dream. _

Stupid Bonnie and her inability to produce a spell without some sort of total backlash.

It was seriously a 'simple spell.' All Bonnie was supposed to do was recite this spell from Emily's grimoire that would have granted them access to a vision of Stefan — pre: bunny chasing, human loving, bravado compensating Stefan.

Damon had gotten a hold of that picture of Klaus and Stefan from Gloria's bar, and all they wanted to see was how Stefan had gotten over his influence from Klaus a la Lexi. You know, in the hopes that they could figure out some way to help him revert back to pre-Klaus Stefan, because this back and forth thing he's got going on is giving them _all _whiplash.

She _really _doesn't need to see it first hand though, thank you very much.

The heel of her boot clicks on the tiled floor, catching Stefan's attention.

He's in front of her, whipping her back into the wall with such force that her head slams into a cabinet and she hears the wood crack behind her (and feels it too, thanks a whole bunch, _Stefan_), and his hand is holding her still and high against the wall via _her throat_.

"Who are you?" he snarls, green eyes wide and feral.

_Nope. Totally _not _Stefan. _

She closes her eyes, wishes three times that she would open her eyes and find herself home, in her own warm bed, but when Stefan's hand tightens around her throat and she claws at his fingers, she pretty much gives up pretending that this is a dream.

"How'd you get in here?" He gives her a little push, and she wonders when exactly the wall is going to give and she'll go flying into his neighbor's bedroom or something.

"I-I don't know!"

His eyes roam her body and she has _no _idea how she's going to explain away her modern clothing, or her magical entry, and panic floods through her veins, pumping through her heart.

"St—" She cuts herself off mid word, just as Stefan's eyes harden and his lips purse into a tight frown.

"Stop," she gasps, pulling at his fingers. _Nice save. _"I'm not here t-to hurt you… or anything," (and man, his grip is _really _tight), "just _please _let me go?"

He loosens his grip just a smidge, but he still holds her up, feet dangling above the ground.

"_Who _are you?" he asks again, his eyes trailing her from her head to her toes. "You should be dead by now."

Yeah, because he's squeezing her windpipe and all.

"You… know why... I'm not." It's a totally lame reason, but what exactly would sound acceptable right now? "Let me... go!" It takes all of her power not to say his name, and he just stares at her, eyes inquisitive and like, slightly amused?

"You're a vampire." It's not so much a question, or even a statement: just a realization. And she would nod to confirm his assumption, but she can't exactly do that since he's still got her throat in a choke-hold, so she pries at his hands and demands that he place her feet back on the ground.

The smug grin he gives her is kind of confusing, but he complies and her feet touch the ground within a matter of seconds.

The moment that his hand releases her neck, she takes a step back and smooths down her skirt, hands fanning her neck and her flushed face. "Thank you."

He's silent, and when she looks up, she finds him back over at the windowsill, cigar in one hand, leaning back against the sill with a contemplative smile.

"Seriously, who are you?" His tone is more bemused now that threatened (or threatening), so she brushes her clammy palms down her thighs and takes a step towards him.

"Caroline — Sunshine." Okay, so it's totally a lame excuse for a last name, but like, this is _Stefan _and he _is _originally from Mystic Falls, so she can't exactly use her actual last name, because then she'd have to explain why none of the Forbes family is aware of her existence and then they'd become suspicious, and you know — she's a vampire. Her family doesn't exactly have the best track record when it comes to the supernatural.

And like, okay, the only reason she'd thought to say sunshine was because the sun is slanting bright rays of golden light over Stefan's face, and she went to middle school with a girl named Mary Sunshine, so it's totally plausible, right? (Never mind that she has no idea if 'Sunshine' was Mary's actual last name...)

"Sunshine," Stefan repeats, one thick brow raised cynically.

"Mm," she smiles. "Caroline Sunshine… I am." She kind of moseys towards him, hand outstretched, bright smile tacked in place.

"And you are?"

Ugh, this formality thing is too weird. She totally wants to call him by his last name, but how weird would that be? Too much to explain for it, and she's not about to get into time travel, when _she _doesn't even know how the hell it happened herself.

Stefan smiles, chuckling lowly. She hears it of course (FYI — vampire hearing).

"Stefan," he says, and that's it. He takes her hand, gives it a shake, and his brows are furrowed (into one long uni-brow), but a smile breaks out onto his face.

"Well, Miss Sunshine, you certainly are something else."

She has no idea what to say to that, so she kind of just smiles and turns away from him. She takes her time exploring his apartment, running her fingers over pictures of— _Elena… _no, Katherine. It's a black and white photo, a Polaroid, but she's there in frills and pearls, black hair cut into a short bob, and it just like — it totally sends Caroline's head spinning.

_No, no, no, no, _NO! This can't be happening.

"Is there something that I can help you with, Miss Sunshine?"

Silence fills the apartment, because okay — she totally had forgotten that she'd used Sunshine as her surname. When she turns around, Stefan's watching her curiously through dark lashes, that same smirk still plastered in place.

But, "Actually, yes." She takes a deep breath and holds the air in her lungs. "I… I think I'm lost, Mr. — Stefan." _Mr. No-Last-Name. _Ugh, this Stefan is sort of presumptuous. And much too cocky. He's different than post-re-ripper Stefan, because at least the Stefan of 2012 has the pretenses of humility.

"Lost?" he questions, like her sudden appearance in his apartment doesn't totally punctuate her claim.

But whatever.

Moody, suspicious Stefan is moody, suspicious Stefan no matter which time period he's in.

"Yes." She nods, turning to face him. "I'm not sure where I am."

He tilts his head, arms folded across his chest now, and he regards her with curiosity.

"You have no where to stay?"

She shakes her head, moving a step closer to him. "Nope." And no money, no means of transportation, a cell phone that won't do her an ounce of good, and too much knowledge than the time period permits.

She's, in a word: screwed.

… … …

It takes her nearly four and half hours to convince Stefan that she's not some crazy axe-wielding vampire killing machine (like, where would she even keep a weapon?), and she totally turns on the water works about how she's lost and she doesn't have even have anyone to go back to, and she _knows _his strengths and his weaknesses — and she totally uses them against him.

This Stefan is a little less forgiving than modern day Stefan (well post-Klaus Stefan is still sort of a dick, but bunny hunting, Elena loving Stefan was totally nice and nurturing), and it takes her a little more tears and a little more touching before he finally gives in. He tries to keep his distance from her, watching her with weary eyes, but when she's on the cusp of a breakdown (that's only half fake: she _is _stuck in the 1920's, and she has no idea how to get back or if her presence will like, alter the events of history or something), so when the tears start flowing, she sort of works herself into a real tizzy.

And like she knew it would, it pulls at Stefan's heart strings.

"Oh, come on, Caroline." He doesn't come to her and wrap her in his arms or hold her to his chest or anything sappy like that, but he's never been one to tough through crying females, so when his voice softens and she moves to him herself and he pats her shoulder comfortingly, she decides that it's as good as she's going to get — and she's perfectly happy with that.

"We'll figure something out," he says, stroking his chin. His eyes roam the ceiling, and he'll look towards the door every so often, but Caroline just collapses back onto the couch, kicking off her boots.

"Can I... Stefan, would I be able to stay here?"

He looks at her funny, eyes slightly narrowed, but a smile plays on his lips and he regards her notably.

"I-I know that you don't know me from the bellhop, but I swear I'm okay and I'm not going to like, stake you in the middle of the night or something." She adds a few sniffles for good measure. "I just... I need a place to stay until I can figure out what to do."

He remains silent for a moment, a long, tense, nail-biting moment, but when he lets out a hearty sigh and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he offers her a curt nod, and what she supposes is supposed to pass for a confirming smile.

"Alright," he relents. "But just until you figure out what you're doing." His brows raise, and his expression, his tone — he's nothing but serious. "I mean it," he levels a finger at her, "no funny business. You stay, you help out around here, and you figure out where you're going."

And she nods, smiling brightly (and it's completely genuine), and she can't even stop herself from dashing over to him and flinging her arms around his neck. His shoulders go rigid, his back straight and tense, and he doesn't hug her back for a few moments, so she pulls her arms tighter and squeals, and she eventually feels a light pat on the middle of her back.

She pulls away, and offers him a sheepish smile. "Ah, I'm sorry," she laughs, "I'm just _so _relieved."

He only nods in return, but she's much too familiar by the expression he wears to be fooled; and even though he tells her in a not so encouraging voice that if she tries to pull a fast one on him or attempts to bump him off in the middle of the night, he'll kill her without blinking, she can totally tell by the amusement in his tone that he's not so turned off by the idea of a roommate.

... ... ...

She stays inside for three whole days. _Three whole days. _

Stefan has plans in downtown Chicago, and she's not ready to venture out on her own yet, and yeah, the fact that she'd stick out like a sore thumb totally influences her decision to stay in.

She digs through his drawers and grabs a pair of pants, and she's sort of surprised that she nearly fits into them. Stefan has a narrow waist, trimmed hips, but the way he dresses in 2012 is misleading. Stupid skinny jeans and pants that don't fit.

He treats her to narrowed eyes and crossed arms when he comes home from wherever he was at (with blood smeared down the side of his neck, which she's prudent to point out), and he leans against the door frame with amusement creasing his features.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Caroline turns, shrugging, and tucks both arms behind her back.

"I needed clothes, Stefan..." And then she totally turns on the _woe-is-me _act, reminding him that she's come with nothing but the clothes she was wearing. He relents, his shoulders deflating, and he just shakes his head as he walks by her.

It takes her another two days to convince him that she needs things: clothing, shoes, jewelry; she's a vampire, and she doesn't want to call attention to them any more than Stefan's doing on his own (she finds a weird sort of thrill in pointing out his little excursions with females where he comes home at three in the morning with mussed hair, missing cuff links and absolutely reeking of beer and blood). She has a compelling argument and when she promises that she'll get a job and pay him back, he gives in (even though she's not really sure what she qualifies for in the 20's, if anything at all. He still makes her sign an IOU (her idea), but she thinks that she's paid him back plenty in the future.

She doesn't mention this part though, of course, but she can tell that she's starting to wedge her way into his heart (because she knows him well enough, so good riddance that it's taken _this _long — Stefan is seriously so freaking stubborn, it's unbelievable!), and she plays him bit by bit until he doesn't really treat her like a stranger that he's humoring.

... ... ...

Caroline loves pearls.

Like, she develops an infatuation for them, and since this is the 1920's (yeah, still totally weird), knockoffs aren't really like, invented yet (or at least no _good _knockoffs), and when Stefan buys her the most beautiful strand of soft pink pearls she's ever laid her eyes on, she almost melts in his arms.

"Make yourself look nice," he tells her when she holds the strand up to the light. Sunshine filters through the opaque shells, and the color is so soft and perfect against her skin, and she's just completely in love with them.

She hopes that when she gets back to Mystic Falls in real time, the pearls will come with her.

"Now, I don't know what you're wearing or who the hell decided that it was appropriate," Stefan slips a hand around her arm, pulling her away from the jewelry store and opens the passenger door to his car for her, "but you need to blend in. You're a walking target."

And she doesn't even feel inclined to feel offended, because even though his words are less than understanding, he's actually completely right. Plus, she thinks it probably has a lot more to do with his own reputation that he's trying to uphold: she's in his company now, and he's responsible for her — she figures that disapproval aimed at her will reflect badly on him, and she's learned quickly that Stefan is very much in tune with the rumor mill. He wears designer label clothing, always looks immaculate, and runs with the big dogs.

She has to play the part, too. (And truthfully? She's totally okay with that!)

Plus, it's already been established that she has no money (hence Stefan buying her pearls), and it's way easier to spend money on someone else's dime. Especially Stefan's, because let's just be real: the Salvatore's are loaded. And he hasn't exactly been forthcoming with that information (nothing about himself at all, actually), but she knows it, and she's totally going to milk him for all that he's worth.

"Where are you from?" Stefan asks her as they drive around the block. Her attention is skewed; stuck on the short hair and flappy dresses, and men looking immaculate in suits and vests and lots of colorful ties.

"Caroline," he snaps a finger in front of her face, calling for her attention.

"Hm?" She twists her hair up into a bun, because it at least makes her feel like she isn't sticking out quite so much. Stefan made her change into one of his pants (which is totally a no-no, because women were absolutely _not _supposed to wear trousers, and she's already gotten a few dirty looks — thanks so much for the bright idea, _Stefan)_, but now she just feels totally mismatched.

"Where did you come from?"

He puts the shift into park though, and she basically like, busts through the door and into the shop. She has no excuse yet, and her mind is still a little frazzled from it all — quick-witted excuses are not in service yet.

She doesn't even know what to ask for when the saleslady greets her, so she waits for Stefan to join them.

He takes control, telling the woman, Clarice, to find Caroline something nice and pretty. "The nicest material you have, Ms. Swan." And Caroline can't even object. She's always kind of wanted to wear the dresses from the 20's. But only for like, a day or two (_not _indefinitely).

Clarice grabs her by the arm and pulls her into a back room, where a slip is waiting for her and a number of dresses hang on a hook tacked to the wall. She expects Clarice to leave, because Caroline's _not _about to drop her slacks in front of an audience, but Clarice doesn't leave, and when it becomes obvious that Caroline's not exactly humoring her, she waves a hand in Caroline's face and takes it upon herself to tug down the over sized pants she's wearing.

"Oh, I-I can do it myself," Caroline says, her hands sort of hovering above Clarice's head. She's not exactly sure what the etiquette calls for these days.

"Well then," Clarice stands, pink lips pursed and arms folded, foot tapping impatiently. "Get to it. I haven't got all day."

Oh, that's right; she probably has to be home by five to have dinner on the table for her husband or something.

"Mr. Salvatore asked that you try on this gown, for this evening," Clarice says, pulling a slinky gold dress from the pile. It had lots of sequins and beading, and was definitely full-cover.

"This evening?" Caroline echoes, because what? She wasn't aware of any plans she was to partake in, for the evening.

"Mm," Clarice agrees, shrugging the body of the dress over Caroline's head. "You know how he fancies those parties at the bar down the street."

Of course she doesn't, but Caroline decides to play along, because what else can she do, right?

"Oh, this is beautiful. You'll knock Mr. Salvatore's slacks right off!" (Which is totally weird, one because this isn't exactly the 'Mr. Salvatore' that she knows, and two — it's Stefan! It's just weird.)

But she smiles softly, shoulders straight and head back, the picture of poise, because that's the most she knows about the 1920's.

She wishes in hindsight, that she had done a little research on Stefan in the 20's, before they'd attempted to have Bonnie conjure up a picture of him from that time, because yeah, time travel sort of sucks when you're not prepared for it.

… … …

"So what does a girl do around here for fun?"

She quickly learns that unless you've got something to do, someone to hang out with, the nineteen twenties is just like the new millennium: boring. And Stefan seems to have like, _no _friends, so Caroline's stuck in his apartment, tuning the radio and reading through books.

He has a lot of them: a whole wall full! And he has quite the collection. She settles on _The Sun Also Rises, _because even though she's actually already read that book, it's new for it's time, and like, it was a huge deal when it came out. And of course, it's about flappers and the Lost Generation and everything she should know for the 1920's, so it's kind of like, history in the making!

She'd tried to go for one of his journals (she knew he had them around there somewhere), but she couldn't find any. This Stefan was definitely a sneaky Stefan.

Stefan just looks over his shoulder, framing her with an amused smile.

"You'll see tonight, Caroline." He turns back to the desk, a newspaper open in front of him. He's highlighting something on one of the pages, his ink pen scratching fine lines back and forth.

"Oh yeah?"

He drops his pen, turning to face her fully. He doesn't speak right away, and she watches him from over the top of the book.

"I'll introduce you to my brother, this evening," he says, and Caroline's ears perk up. As far as she knew, he and Damon weren't on speaking terms during the 20's.

"Brother?" she questions. "I didn't know you had a brother." (Total. Lie.)

Stefan nods, dark brows rising. "And a dame that is absolutely stunning."

Ooh, so maybe this evening won't be so bad. She's still stuck here until Bonnie figures out a way to call her back, but at least she'll get to see Damon in all of his Raging 20's glory. And like, she hates Katherine, but she can probably put up with her for a few hours.

"So, where are we going?" She abandons the book, deciding that whatever has his attention must be much more interesting, and she takes a seat on the edge of desk. Stefan looks up at her, his eyes wide and mouth open in surprise, and she wonders if this is totally going against etiquette.

"My friend, Gloria, she sings at this lounge downtown." Gloria… Gloria… she's heard of Gloria before. She just can't come up with a face for the name.

"She does Jazz," Stefan says, turning back to the paper. "Blues."

Caroline peeks over his arm, catching the title of the article he's underlining. _Ripper of Monterey Strikes… _He closes the paper before she can read more, but she knows _for sure _that _he _is the Ripper of Monterey. Elena told her all about his bender with Klaus in Chicago, and his ripper days.

"Ever been to a jazz lounge?" he questions, leaning back against the chair and folding his arms behind his head. He kicks his feet up onto the desk, his eyes trailing her face.

"Um, no." And it's cool because it's prohibition, so there's no way that she won't enjoy tonight! She's heard that prohibition makes everything that much more interesting, and she wants to find out for herself! And truth be told — it'd totally help her finish her history paper, and give her that really unique spin that will definitely give her an A+!

Stefan smiles, bright and genuine, and she thinks that the twinkle in his eye is one of mischievous shortcomings.

"Well, you're in for a treat."

… … …

So this 'dame' he talks of? Yeah, it's Rebekah. _Rebekah. _

AKA: the Evil Blood Slut.

He meets her out on the dance floor, and she's not really completely sure what's acceptable and what's not, but she _swears _what they're doing out there is totally _not _proper dance floor etiquette for the 20's.

It's weird; she can't even really explain it. It's totally G-rated, (if she was to go by 2012 standards), and there's no grinding, no bouncing, no exposed midriffs or long slits of leg, but Rebekah's arms are wrapped around Stefan's neck, one of her legs separating both of his, and he tips his head down towards her ear and they have a whispering game of cat and mouse, of pulling and taking.

It's just… it's different from how everyone else is dancing. The crowd around them sways to the beat of the song, the melodic curves of Gloria's voice, swinging each other forwards and backwards, under arms, over legs, but Rebekah and Stefan seem to just… dance to their own beat.

Like they're the only ones out on the dance floor.

Caroline hangs off near the bar, sipping on some sort of super tart champagne, keeping her eyes on Stefan. She doesn't know anyone else there (aside from Rebekah, and yeah — she's so not interested in becoming friends with the Evil Blood Slut; not now, not _ever_), and she tries her best to stay in the shadows.

And she's pretty much okay with it, because while it's not usually her thing, she sort of is enjoying just people watching right now. She likes the pretty colors, the scandalous behavior of woman (which, Oh my God, these people would all drop dead from heart attacks if they could see the modern kids on the dance floor), and the coy interactions between the men and the women.

It's a different era, but it seems more like a different world.

"Caroline!" Stefan's suddenly in front of her, Rebekah tucked securely in his arm. She holds onto his neck, her red lips twisted into a protective smile, and she regards Caroline with the same amount of bitchiness that modern day Rebekah does.

_Bitch. _

"Caroline, this is Rebekah," he says, grabbing her arm and pulling her out from the shadows. "Rebekah, this is my… new friend, Miss Caroline Sunshine."

They shake hands, but it's so awkward, and Caroline totally just wants to drop Rebekah's hand and run. Rebekah has a firm hold on her hand though, and Caroline's not going anywhere.

"Caroline Sunshine? Really?" Her displeasure is obvious in her tone, and thin blond brows rise dubiously.

Caroline just smiles, the most obviously fake, honestly insincere, sugary sweet smile she can manage. Stefan nudges Rebekah, tugging on the strand of pearls that fall from Rebekah's neck.

"Be nice," he warns. "No need to high-hat my guest here." His tone is too light to be taken seriously.

"Oh, are you going to eat her?"

And like, seriously?

_Seriously? _

"No," Caroline speaks up, and she knows that she probably shouldn't, but Rebekah's just so infuriating and pompous and just, UGH. "I'm a vampire."

Stefan's face contorts, growing hard and his eyes go cold. Rebekah's face falls almost instantly, and Caroline would be lying if she said she didn't get some satisfaction from leaving Rebekah speechless.

"Then you might want to watch your tongue, you Dumb Dora," Rebekah snaps, shifting in Stefan's arms. He holds her back, but his eyes are glued to Caroline.

"I'm an O—"

"I know, an Original vamp—" So she totally realizes her mistake — just a few moments _after _she makes it, when damage control is like, impossible.

"You know?" Rebekah breaks free of Stefan's hold, pushing herself right into Caroline's face. "You know about the Original vampires?" She's almost surprised, like she can't quite decide whether to gloat that their legend has reached so far, or punch Caroline in the face for stepping up to her knowing that she's an Original vampire.

"Caroline, how_ do_ you know?" Stefan adds, pulling Rebekah back. "Not many know that the Originals actually exist."

"As they shouldn't," Rebekah snaps. "If people think we're nothing more than frolicking children, then we loose our power."

Caroline can't even keep from rolling her eyes. "I just—"

"Who's your maker?" Rebekah cuts her off (which is sort of a good thing, because she definitely didn't have an explanation for _that _one), but then her question grabs Stefan's attention, and they're both standing there in silence, eyebrows raised in expectation and like, she panics.

She absolutely _can't _tell them that _Katherine _killed her after _Damon, _his own estranged brother had forced his blood into her body (in an evil ploy to get back at Stefan himself) because then Stefan would probably go berserk and start killing random people and Rebekah would murder her just for the hell of it. And like, how weird would breakfast be (in the case that she lived through the night) if she told them that yeah, she's part of Stefan's bloodline, and she knows _both _of them in _twenty twelve. _No, that just won't go over well, she doesn't even have to imagine it to see that.

"Rebekah, Stefan — is there a problem here?"

And _no fucking way. _Things just got like, ten times worse, because she _knows _that voice. She's been _playing _that voice for the past week and a half.

Rebekah and Stefan separate, and yep, there's Klaus, standing behind them, looking as innocent and charming as ever.

Rebekah releases her hold of Stefan and stomps over to Klaus, lips turned down into a pout.

"She knows, Nik." She motions towards Caroline, and when Klaus' eyes meet hers, she's rendered completely speechless. Like, she totally freezes, and she can't do _anything_: she can't speak, she can't move — she can't even look away!

"She knows _what, _Rebekah?" Klaus holds her gaze, sparing her for a few moments to look at Stefan, but then his gaze comes right back to her.

"She knows that we're _Originals, _Nik," Rebekah whines, tugging on the buckle of Klaus' sleeve. He looks immaculate: clean cut (shaven more than she's ever seen him before), honey colored hair slicked back into tight waves, white tuxedo primped and fine. No more gritty British stereotypes.

"What?" He looks to Rebekah, eyebrows retreating back into his hairline. "That's not possible. No one is supposed to know about our physical existence here."

And then three sets of eyes are on her again, and panic floods her body in an icy cool rush.

"I… I-it's a legend," she says, shrugging. She's never been so good with ad-libbing, and she's especially bad under pressure. "I've heard about K— the Original Vampires, but no one's ever seen them before…"

It's so weird talking about them like they aren't standing right there, like _Klaus _himself, _the big bad hybrid_ isn't like, courting her or whatever. Like Rebekah didn't try to kill her ex-boyfriend and her best friend in a matter of two days. Like this stupid family isn't making her already complex life so much more complicated.

"I… I thought I was going to meet your brother?"

Okay, subject change — always a good thing.

"Ah, but Nik here _is_ my brother." Stefan slings an arm around Klaus' shoulders, and they both stare at her with an intensity that she's just not at all comfortable with.

And damn him. This was _not _what she was expecting. She wanted Damon; a soft, tender, not-so-snarky Damon, who maybe she could manipulate into taking her out for a night on the town.

Not _Klaus, _the worst pseudo-brother _ever. _

"Alright, alright." Klaus' voice is soft, his expression tender, and it's totally weird because the scowl that is everything Klaus — the one that he wears permanently, the same one she met him with — is gone. His hand is on her arm a second later, and he's pulling her towards a section of round tables against the wall, camouflaged with thick metal stairs and dark lighting and thick maroon colored curtains.

"Let's not talk about this here." Klaus' hand is on the small of her back now; pressure light, fingers gentle, and he guides her towards a table, letting her set the pace. "Come, Miss—"

"Um, Caroline," she says with a breathless smile. "It's Caroline."

Rebekah follows along behind them, arms still crossed, perpetual pout still aimed at whoever will look her way, and Stefan comes up on her other side, expression now so totally (unfortunately) intrigued.

Crap. What the hell has she just gotten herself into?

... ... ...

_"It takes a lot of courage to release the familiar and seemingly secure, to embrace the new. But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful. There is more security in the adventurous and exciting, for in movement there is life, and in change there is power."_

- Alan Cohen -

* * *

A/N: Merp. Don't know where this came from. I was watching S3 E3 last night, and I am just in love with that episode. The dynamics between Stefan and Klaus? So amazing. And I thought it'd be pretty cool to see how Caroline reacted to it all. So yeah, that's my back story for this little fic.

I would love, love, love to get your thoughts/comments/ideas - anything at all you'd be willing to give me! So if you have the time, please do review! The best way for an author to know that their work is appreciated, that they're doing something right (or wrong) is to get **FEEDBACK**. So yeah, if you'd be so kind...

Also, I actually _did _know a Mary Sunshine... in college. Never found out how she came to be called Mary Sunshine, but I thought I'd throw that in, because truthfully: I'm kind of jealous. All I have is a boring old name and nickname that is just NOT sharing-appropriate.


	2. Chapter 2

**IF I NEVER SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN  
**

**PART II  
**

... ... ...**  
**

If Stefan is the Jay Gatsby of this story, then Klaus is, oddly enough, Nick Carraway (sorta fitting, right? — What with the same forename and all).

At least, as of now, with all proper gentlemanly pretenses fully in tact.

So maybe the Klaus she knows isn't tolerant and open-minded, mindfully quiet and well tempered, but he _is _suave and approachable, and there's some element of charisma there that catches her attention. It's _him_, she determines, something about his aura that demands attention.

And secrets, he likes secrets (just like Nick Carraway!). There's just... just something about him that sort of has her teetering on the edge.

His hand doesn't leave the small of her back until they hit the shallow set of curving stairs, in which case his hand is suddenly extended out in front of her. He watches her, his expression calm and curious, and his hand never falters even as she sort of just stands there like a doof, staring at him.

"Well get a move on," Rebekah snaps from behind her. "Honestly, some of us would like to try to salvage the night."

Caroline rolls her eyes before she can remind herself to _not _do annoying adolescent twenty-first century things like that. It's just... Rebekah is _so _petty. She doesn't want to draw parallels and all, because she'd rather _read _The Great Gatsby than _live _it, but if there's a Daisy Buchanan of this warped little tale, it's definitely Rebekah.

She steps to the side, allowing Rebekah and Stefan to pass, watching as the former slinks her way into a curved booth with a poised elegance that Caroline begrudgingly admits (to herself) she's jealous of (and then she immediately scolds herself for being jealous of Rebekah for _anything_).

An attractive debutant, privileged beyond belief (takes the term 'old money' to a whole new level, right?), and totally devouring the attention she's getting — not only from Stefan, who carts her around the room on his arm like a brilliantly sparkling golden trophy personified, but from the hoards of buzzed men dressed in black from head to toe who keep tipping their hats at her, and greasy mobsters skimming fingers down the bare stretch of her arm.

Stefan ignores them (or is just oblivious to them), and takes to burying his face in the tightly pinned curls of Rebekah's hair, lips brushing the underside of her chin.

Pompous, overly confident, _dick__ish_.

_Just _like Jay Gatsby. She scolds herself again, reminding her overly active imagination that no, this is _not _a scarily accurate rendition of the novel in which they've become the stars, but this is _real life. _She needs to stop comparing everyone and everything she sees to something from a fictional novel.

But there's just _so _many parallels to draw, and she just can't help it!

Like Klaus for instance, Rebekah's dotting older brother (just one sibling short of the correct familial slot). Seriously, it's like a slightly warped reboot of The Great Gatsby — which leaves Caroline with a seriously scary thought:

Where does she fit into this story?

"Caroline." Klaus' voice is soft, raspy, and she catches his eyes drifting from his sister and Stefan, then back to her. "Please — join us for a drink, won't you?"

She's never known him to have so much patience. "We have much to discuss."

And his hand is still outstretched, other arm tucked suavely behind his back, and when she drops her hand into his, the warmth of his touch seeps right through her glove.

... ... ...

She must look as awkward she feels, hovering in front of the table, because Stefan and Rebekah stop canoodling long enough to cast her awry expressions (well, Stefan is mostly regarding her with a sense of bemusement; Rebekah is really just shooting daggers into Caroline's forehead... attention whore).

"You'll understand if we seem forward," Klaus says, and his hand is once again on her back. "It isn't often that we come across vampires who know of our, shall we say—" his eyes scrape the ceiling, lips twisting into something of a grin, "—actual existence, as compared to the... _legend_, as you put it."

When she still doesn't budge, just shifts her attention from Klaus to Stefan, Klaus' hand becomes firm and he pushes her gently forward. Her knees bump the edge of the booth, and she reaches a hand out to steady herself. Klaus is there on one side, her hand landing in his, and she freezes for a moment, eyes locked on his.

He's full-on smiling now, and it's sort of infuriating.

Okay, it's _really _infuriating, because all she sees is _Klaus. _Not _Nik_.

So she pulls her hand free from his, and folds herself into the booth. She's mindful to keep distance between herself and Rebekah of course, but Klaus apparently has no qualms about invading her _personal space, _and slides in right beside her, his elbow catching hers.

A champagne glass slides down the table, and he passes it onto her. "Champagne, Caroline?"

It's bubbly and golden, and what the hell — she _really _needs a drink right now.

"Thanks," she says, accepting the glass. It's pint sized, miniature, and so totally not enough to make this conversation bearable (because you know, her metabolism works faster than a human's, so it takes a bit more ... okay, a _lot _more for her to feel the affects of alcohol).

But something is better than nothing, so.

She nearly downs the entire glass in one swallow. Seriously, there's no dainty sipping and pinkies up from her! But she can literally feel all six eyes on her, so she forces herself to slow down with the champagne; tasting it. Letting the tartness rest on the back of her tongue, her fingers tapping the bowled glass.

"Alright, enough of this moseying about." Rebekah leans forward, resting one arm on the table, tangling her other hand in Stefan's long (overly gelled) hair. "How do you know about us?"

Wow. Right to the point.

Whatever. "I told you: I've heard stories."

She _feels _Klaus close in on her before his voice breaks through her thoughts. His elbow is just about touching her arm, and his fingers —damn him and his affinity for being all touchy feel-y— are seriously _this close _to hers. Never mind her gloves. She's hyper aware now, paying too much attention to where she is in space — to where _he _is in space, relative to her_. _

And it's weird, because it's not like she has feelings for him or anything. She just... she doesn't really know what to do. At all. Modern day Klaus she can deal with, easily; he's cocky, self-righteous, bigoted and just an all around ass. The problem here is: she doesn't know if the same applies to _this _Klaus.

She certainly can't use her normal standards, because of the man sitting across from her, wearing a smirk that says, _Hello, I'm a cocky douche vampire who vants to drink your vlood! _Okay, so it's a bit embellished, but it's pretty much there stamped across Stefan's (large) forehead. Just written in invisible ink. But the cockiness, it's so plain to see.

(And yet, she still sort of likes Stefan. She's a sucker for the underdog, the reformed bad boy (except when his name is Klaus) and she's not going to deny that she's sort of drawn to Stefan. Not in the _lets hop into bed and get our shag on _type of way, but the _I'm your little sister, so you'll buy me things and protect me _sort of way).

She thinks to the early days of her new life; of Stefan, teaching her to hunt bunnies and control her blood lust.

She's holding onto those memories. _That _Stefan.

(And she comes to the conclusion that it's the curse of the Mikaelson's; they're so self-destructive, they _must _just bring everyone around them down too, like a ripple effect.)

"Stories... From your maker?" Rebekah questions, again. And really, why is she so hung up on this 'maker' thing? This isn't _True Blood _or an Anne Rice novel, okay? Makers in her world are basically the equivalent of, like ... the sperm donor (ew).

(Double ew to _Damon _being her symbolic 'sperm donor'...)

(But then she sort of wants to laugh, because seriously — just trying to imagine how many little Damon's _could _be running around right now, both in the literal and metaphorical sense is just like, ridiculous. So she dips her head, hiding her smile behind her glass of champagne.)

"How odd you are," Rebekah snips, eyes alight. So _may_be she wasn't hiding it so well...

But then the words flow out like vomit, and she has absolutely _no _control over them. "Better than being a whiny little princess like you." And yeah, that was calm for what she _wanted _to say.

It's enough of an insult though, she gathers, when Rebekah's vivid red lips purse and she turns flared nostrils on her brother first, and then Stefan.

"I'd suggest you watch your tongue—"

Klaus, like her savior (that she doesn't need), stops what Caroline is sure would have been a rant. "Rebekah, that's enough." He waves a hand airily, and then his eyes are back on Caroline. "I'm afraid we've started off on the wrong foot. Please, sweetheart," he waves a hand in a wide gesture towards Stefan and Rebekah, "we're just looking for some answers."

Ugh, Klaus and his stupid terms of endearment.

Folding one hand on top of the other, Caroline sits up a little straighter, squares her shoulders, and holds her head up high. She _won't _be intimidated.

"Well I'm afraid I don't have the ones you're looking for," she says.

Rebekah scoffs. "Right. Well I find that hard to believe, when you refuse to even let us ask."

Okay, valid answer. So, "Then go ahead: ask." Still won't change her answers. Or lack there of.

Rebekah looks pleased with herself though, and Klaus leans back against the cushion, glancing between his sister and Caroline. Watching the show.

"Where did you come from?" Stefan starts them off.

Easy enough. "Rhode Island." (Thanks, Gatsby.)

"How old are you?" This one comes from Rebekah.

"Eighteen."

Rebekah rolls her eyes this time (which tells Caroline that eye rolling and sneering are free game, now). "You're such a bluenose."

Um, what? She's not even sure what that means. She needs a dictionary, filled with Roaring 20's lingo.

"I meant how _old _are you?"

"Um, if you wanted to know how old I am in vampire years, you could have just _asked _that!"

"That's exactly what I said, _baby_," Rebekah purrs —_purrs— _voice soft and sugary sweet.

Stefan talks over Rebekah, cuts off Caroline's response (and you betcha she had one!). "How many vampires did you know?"

She shrugs, running a finger along the rim of her glass. _"Oh, not many: just _all _of you and your enti_re _stupid extended families." _No, she doesn't say that. But she _so _wants to!

Instead, she settles with, "Just a few. Most were in and out."

"And the lads you were living with?" Klaus speaks up from beside her, and honestly — she'd sort of forgotten he was even part of their conversation. Just sitting their lurking, head pinging back and forth like a fan during a tennis match.

He catches her eyes, and she lets him hold her gaze. "Gone."

"Gone?" Stefan echoes, thick brows disappearing into chunks of shaggy hair. At her nod, he grins a slow, menacing thing. "Well then, it looks like you're in just the right place, sweetheart!"

This gets a chuckle around the table, and everyone seems to relax. Caroline doesn't quite get the humor (what's so funny about being a bunch of recluses without homes?), but she tries her best at a smile. She reaches for the champagne glass again, and she nearly chucks it across the table at Rebekah when she realizes that it's empty.

Oh boy, does she need a refill. Bottle sized, preferably.

"Well, I apologize for the heavy turn our conversation has taken," Klaus says, a hand resting comfortably across his chest. He tugs at the knot of his tie, adjusting it away from his neck. He leans forward, now just inches from Caroline as he motions towards Gloria with an arrogant smile. He sticks his fingers between his lips, blows air out through his teeth and catches her attention.

(And how rude! Gentlemen do not _whistle _at people!)

Caroline follows Klaus' gaze to Gloria, wondering how she'll react. Note taking 101!

Gloria reels back, hugging her white boa closer to her body. She motions towards her band, grabbing the microphone and sends a coy smile their way. "Take us home, boys!"

When Klaus turns back around and turns fully to face her, she's expecting it.

When he extends his hands, grins a charmingly innocent grin and asks her for a dance, she's not.

"Caroline, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low and enticing. "Join me for a dance, would you?"

... ... ...

No. No. No, no, no. Just... no.

No, she will _not _dance with him. Dancing with him never leaves the night well.

So, no.

But then he's there, hand still out, palm open, fingers warm as they brush against the exposed skin of her shoulder. His touch is like fire; seriously, like, literally, he's _warm. _And she's _sensitive. _

"It's a speakeasy," he says casually, grinning. "What have you gotten all dolled up for, if not to enjoy the night in the company of a darb gentleman?"

She smiles sweetly. "Oh? You know where I can find one?" And then she looks away, _immediately, _because _noooo _she's not flirting with Klaus. Voluntarily. (Or well, really, he tricked her into it, but still.)

Klaus' dimples carve themselves out, and she's never before realized how pronounced they are, what with all of the facial hair he chooses to sport in real time. Stefan, and even Rebekah (to Caroline's surprise) chuckle, and something between them all sort of changes. It's nothing huge, no big electric charge in the air or anything like that, but it suddenly doesn't feel so... so tense.

She sort of feels like maybe she can relax a little.

And then she realizes — she doesn't really have a choice. She's here, possibly stuck here for an undetermined amount of time, and she knows no one else. She doesn't have the opportunity to make her own friends and run off, because it's vital that she stay here with Stefan (even though he doesn't know her, he feels safe, so she's staying).

This whole thing will go down a lot easier —for _all _of them— if they can try to get along.

And then he goes all Prince Charming on her, and when he scoots closer, lessening the space between them, she barely moves away. "It's just a dance, Caroline." And _damn, _that accent! So smooth, like velvet. "I can show you how a real man appreciates a woman."

And okay, way _too _much vavoom there, but whatever. Better him than one of the skeeves who keeps checking them out, right?

"I ... I don't know how to dance." And that's the truth; she's used to like, grinding and popping and locking. Not _swaying _and swinging and dipping. (Ha, she can just picture Tyler trying to swing her around his waist...)

Klaus smiles, brows raised, and the intensity in his eyes, somehow still playfully light, makes her undead heart pound.

"No need to, love." His eyes never leave her face. "Just follow me; I'm an excellent partner. I won't lead you astray."

Gloria's voice rolls in silky waves, saturating her in a sparkling, sensual sort of way.

Klaus opens his hand to her again, and this time — she takes it.

... ... ...

The smile that lights Klaus' face when she places her hand in his is something to see. It's not cocky like she thought it'd be. It's just... pleased. Genuine.

His eyes are dark, murky sort of, and he walks with his back to the crowd, maneuvering a path for them to the middle of the floor. Caroline follows blindly, still too aware of her hand cradled in his, and when he suddenly stops, pulling her into a curt spin that rolls her right against his body, Caroline swallows down the acidic burn in her throat.

She has a flashback (a flash forward?) of her body nearly pressed flush to his, her hand resting tensely on his shoulder while he holds her with an arm around her waist like she's some delicate flower he might crush.

A princess, she felt like that night —one who was totally going to be locked in a tower before the night's end, glass slippers crushed on the concrete steps— but a princess, none the less.

If there's one thing Klaus is good at, it's worming his way beneath your walls. Seriously, this guy.

Gloria's voice is amazing; it sends Caroline back to last year, when she'd taken the stage to make an impromptu serenade to Matt because she was still totally obsessed with him, and she decides that if she ever takes up singing again, she's totally going to work on some R&B. This blues stuff is _sick! _But definitely outdated.

(Unless they hosted a Blues Night or something at the Grill — which would actually be totally cool!)

She tries to keep some distance between herself and Klaus, but he takes matters into his own hands and apparently decides that they aren't close enough.

With a swift push away, he spins her out, then tugs her back in, pulling her flush against his body. His scent floods her, overwhelms her (he smells fantastic, she decides; something of warm musk and spice, and absolutely _nothing _like she thought he'd smell like — which is fine, because who likes to dance with someone who spells like stale cigars and citrus? No one, that's who. Because it's gross).

His hand is high on her back, his warm fingers resting against the exposed patch of skin of her shoulder blade. His hands are like heating pads, warm, and heavy and completely encompassing. One clenches her hand protectively in his grasp, the other guiding her to move with his body, to sway with the smooth beats of the saxophone.

"Not so hard, is it now, love?" Klaus' face is just about touching hers, and his breath is warm against the cuff of her ear.

Caroline shrugs, very purposefully turning her head away. "I have experience with dancing — just not _this _kind of dancing."

A spark shoots through Klaus' eyes, and his dark lips curve up into a soft smile. "That's the fun of it, Caroline! This is prohibition; nobody cares what anyone is doing!"

Caroline doesn't answer, because hello — what can she possibly say to that? Klaus chuckles lowly, and the sound reverberates around in his chest, vibrating against Caroline's arm.

"You know, you're quit different from most of the women that run this place."

God, and his eyes are on her again, and yeah, commanding and all. Not in the glowering _you will pay attention to me _way that 2012 Klaus likes to put out, but in a courting _Get to know me _way.

(And ugh, _Come on, Caroline—get to know me! I dare you._)

Ugh, Klaus and his charm. (No one ever said that the crazies don't have their charms, too.)

"I'm not like most girls."

Klaus nods. "I see that."

... ... ...

They are dancing totally G-rated, at least, by her standards, but he still makes her feel very _Dita Von Teese. _

No, there's no Burlesque dancing going on; no groping, no flashing tasteless amounts of flesh and there is certainly _no _seduction going on here (well, not by _her _anyway), but she does feel very... sexy.

The way Klaus dances, the way the crowd moves around them, swaying in time to the beat, woman molding to their partners ... well it's all very sensual. And weird. Totally weird. But it's mostly weird because of who she's dancing _with. _She would absolutely _love _to dance like this with Tyler.

She likes the swaying and the twirling. It's a bit more energetic than she'd realized and the contact isn't really close in the grinding sort of way, but somehow, it's still just more ... sensual. Erotic, even.

Her gloves had been stripped off at some point during their dance, and she glances up just in time to see Stefan sweep Rebekah past them. Rebekah's eyes are closed, contented smile gracing her face.

Caroline feels dizzy. Whether it be from the spinning, the twirling and the dipping that Klaus likes to surprise her with when they seemed settled on their feet, or just from the proximity of his body to hers (and it's totally partially due to the fact that this is just a _lot _to take in), she feels weird.

She feels light and airy, but her stomach churns and this tingle in her gut won't go away.

"You know, you're a wonderful dancer. I can't for the life of me figure out what had you so worried," Klaus says, his voice soft (she hates when he talks to her like that).

Now Caroline does look at him, right in the eyes (and holds in her breath; she's only been this close to him once before, and yeah ... intimacy and personal space and all that).

"I just... this isn't really me. I—" she falters, a sweltering heat flushing straight through her body, "—honestly: I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're doing fine," he assures her, his tone lilting and impossible to disbelieve.

But she shakes her head, lips pursing into a tight frown (because she sort of wants to cry — the day is starting to catch up to her now, and she's worried that she's just _this close _to falling to pieces).

"That's not what I meant." She takes a second to breathe. Closes her eyes, inhales deeply. It doesn't help much that she inhales _him, _but whatever. A moment is a moment. "I... I don't know who I am here."

"Ah, but isn't that what keeps us all moving?"

Has his voice always been so smooth? It's wispy, very soft and low, but still easy to listen to. He has _that _kind of voice; the kind that wields you to his liking, demands your full attention. Is so incredibly enchanting and enticing that even if you want you, when he goes all low and inspirational on you, all you hear is _him. _You listen.

"Maybe," she agrees. "But what good is living life if you don't know what you're living it for?"

Klaus looks like he's considering his words, and his eyes flash away from her. He's quiet, and his jaw has hardened, taking on more of a familiar expression that she's become so used to over the past few months.

"You shouldn't write yourself off so soon, darling."

("_There's a whole world out there, waiting for you... Great cities and art, and music. Genuine_ _beauty._")

And there it is again; she has to wonder why he's _always _trying to build her up. Why is it always _him, _of all people, that's the one adding the bricks that build up her self esteem?

Caroline allows herself a little eye roll, because really? Freaking Klaus.

"That's easy for you to say; you've been alive for like, a billion years." She glances away, but she totally notes how his shoulder tenses beneath her palm. "You've had plenty of lifetimes to figure out who you are."

He snorts something ungentlemanly. "If only it were that easy, sweet Caroline."

And okay, so it was totally a low blow. Obviously, he has no idea who he is — and he's been searching for a thousand years! But sometimes, words slip out before her brain turns on the filter, and she can't exactly stop her foot from going in her mouth.

"Yeah," she agrees, her voice falling away. "If only."

... ... ...

So she realizes that as of right now, she could probably fill the role of Jordan Baker.

First, she knows where this whole thing with Klaus is going; he had no problem trying to _woo _her in real time, even though he was well aware that the things he'd done would always be the distance between them, so she can only imagine how much more direct he'll be _now, _if he does in fact take a liking to her (and after _that _dance — yeah, it looks like her little hybrid problem has followed her through the decades).

(Awesome.)

And her mouth, her freaking mouth; she really needs to teach it to run stuff by her brain first, because this whole saying-things-she-shouldn't thing is totally going to get her in trouble (land her in hot water, as the flappers would say).

Caroline certainly appreciates life, so she doesn't have to check off the **Disregard of Other People's Feelings **for her comparison form, but she _is _being dishonest. Oh _man, _is she being dishonest!

So maybe she's not really a Jordan Baker. Maybe she's just... half of her.

Or maybe she'll make up her own character. She doesn't know, and her mind is too cluttered with _WTF _moments just from today alone to think straight right now.

... ... ...

Their last dance is cut short, abruptly, when both Klaus and Caroline pull away from each other, eyes wide and matching expressions of confusion beaming back at one another.

Klaus freezes, his hands falling still as he holds Caroline close, glancing around the room. The way his body stiffens, then goes completely rigid and his eyes are so dark, the iris looks to be a whole new color — it scares Caroline.

"Wh—what's wrong?"

He never lets go of her hand; just holds her tighter, closer, and pushes her in front of him.

"We have to go," he says, and that's all. He forces her through the crowd, knocking into people left and right, shouldering right past them.

His voice has gone hard, lips pursed in that angry frown that... and then she knows that look —she _knows—_ what it means. It's the same one he got when she turned him down at his ball, the same look he got any of the numerous times she's scoffed in his face, the same expression he flashes to either of the Salvatore Duo when they do something he's not particularly fond of.

That same, gut-wrenching, heart racing _OMG _moment where she doesn't know _what _he's going to do; but _that _look — that look means he's in danger.

Which, by extension, means that _she _is danger now too.

"Klaus, what's going on—"

"Not now, Caroline," he snaps, pulling her up to the booth where they'd started the evening at. He grabs Rebekah's silver clutch, then spins on his heel, eyes stormy and expression grim.

Caroline stomps her heel. "Are we in danger? Because if we are, I think that I have a right to—"

His fingers on her arm tighten, and she sees—she can already see—finger shaped bruises forming. He turns on her, both hands coming up to her shoulders. His grip is firm, heavy, but she doesn't feel threatened by him.

"Listen to me, Caroline." His face is inches away from hers, and she takes this moment to scrutinize him. "We need to get out of here, right now. There are people out there... people who want to harm us. And they _can_."

Caroline's heart starts thudding so hard, so loud, she wonders if he can hear it too. "Do they... they know? About—" she motions between them, "—us?"

He nods, grimly. "Yes, they know that we're vampires."

Well yeah, because there's no self control here. What with Stefan and Rebekah _openly _eating people ... Stefan slashing people's wrists for the hell of it. Rebekah compelling every person who makes eye contact with her.

Wait, now it's really weird ... Since when is _Klaus _the well-behaved one?

"H-how?" Oh that's nice, now she's stuttering. (Being nervous does that to her.)

"I..." he growls, cutting himself off. "There's no time to explain. We must find Stefan and my sister, and leave."

He doesn't have to do much looking, because Stefan and Rebekah blur right to where they're standing not even a full second after Caroline turns back around, eyes open and searching for them (and see, this is why people know there's vampires about; stop using your vampire powers, idiot!)

"Niklaus!"

Rebekah sounds so lost, so scared, that Caroline feels bad for her. For like a second. Because then she realizes that she's _stuck _with them, which means that now she has to run or fight or whatever it is that Klaus plans on forcing them all to do.

"There's no time, sweetheart," he snaps, grabbing Caroline's wrist in one hand, twirling Rebekah around and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling them both forward. "Go, go."

Caroline glances over at Stefan, who looks ... weird. Not scared, but maybe like, just really confused?

She sees Rebekah's head snap in her direction, and then a second later, Rebekah tears herself free from her brother's grasp and turns on Stefan, blocking his path.

"Do something about them, Stefan!"

She stands with one hip popped, arms crossed, bobbing lightly on her toes as she waits for an explanation with a sneer. The picture of adolescence.

"What am I supposed to do about it?" He pulls her into his arms, holding her close. Protectively.

Rebekah's irritation doesn't wane. "I don't know!" She throws her hands up. "But they're here, because of you! I told you—" she slaps her hands to his chest, "—to stop bumping people off. Honestly, how daft are you?"

Caroline reaches a hand out to Klaus' wrist, and he stops suddenly, eyes blaring. "What?" He pulls away from her, reeling as if she'd tricked him into touching vervain or something.

"What does Stefan have to do with this?"

Last time she checked, Klaus was the one hell bent on taking a seven century bender and murdering everyone _ever. _

(This Ripper-Stefan thing is really throwing her off — she'd definitely prefer to get the second hand account from Damon, or even the third hand account from Elena, as passed down by Damon.)

"He... Look, Caroline, I don't have time to explain it right now, but—"

"Stefan bumped off the wife of a Big Cheese — who happened to know some vampire hunters," Rebekah supplies for him, irritation dripping from every word.

Oh, well that's just awesome. Any chance they'll turn out like Mr. Saltzman? Klaus could totally use a friend (and someone to get him off of her back).

"So now they're hunting you." So. Not. Cool.

Rebekah takes obvious pleasure in pointing out, "And you now, too."

Klaus steps between them, holding one hand out in front of each of them. "Right. Which is why we must leave, _now._"

Caroline watches as Rebekah relents with an exaggerated sigh, but places her hand in Klaus. Does she have any other choice? Running? Hiding? No where to go.

So tentatively (because the moment calls for it), she drops her hand into Klaus' and lets him pull her forward. Pushing her and Rebekah in front of him, a hand on the small of each of their backs, he directs them towards a back door (_"An alleyway," he says, pushing her forward when she hesitates). _

There's no spray of bullets, no silver axes flying through the air — no chaos at all. Women continue to sway against the men, the champagne continues to bubble over the edge of pyramids of glasses, and the chatter bumps up in volume. Blissfully unaware, every person in the place.

They duck out through a staff room, but no one pays them any mind.

"This way," Klaus says, motioning them all towards a thick metal door, framed with wispy white smoke.

"I'm not going through the freezer, Nik," Rebekah whines, stopping short (and nearly causing Stefan to plow into her).

Klaus rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan. "Please, Rebekah, we don't have time for this."

And Caroline's not playing sides or taking one or anything, but there's just something tugging at her gut, something pinging at her. She can't explain it; she just knows that they can't go in there. This feeling, this thing inside of her — she's experienced it before. With Tyler, during his first transformation. With those sheriffs she'd been forced to deal with ... Intuition on crack, she likes to think of it as.

It's never let her down before.

Her protective instincts go nutty, and she presses a hand to the door. She feels the chill seep through her skin, settle into the bones of her hand, but she doesn't move her hand away.

"No, she's right." She listens as hard as she can for new voices, for the sound of guns locking or anything that could tip her off that they're not safe.

When Klaus turns on her, scowl firmly in place, expression menacing, she ignores him (she's become a pro at dismissing that tactic; and that's her point, since he has no idea).

"What?" His patience is running thin.

But so is hers. "They're there," she says, slowly, closing her eyes and pointing towards the door. She still can't hear them, but she knows. She just does. There's just something there, something telling her that they aren't safe in the alley.

"Really?" Klaus throws his hands up. His exasperation is barely concealed. "And where exactly do you suggest we go?"

"The front," she says, before she can even really think about it.

Rebekah jumps in, staring at Caroline as if she's suddenly grown a second head. "The front door?" she snaps, and she too hovers, edging her way closer. "Have you gone mad?"

Caroline juts her thumb back out towards the freezer door. "Whatever. Go through the alley if you want. I just... I don't think it's safe. So I," she turns, signaling out Stefan and motioning him towards the main hall, "am leaving."

There's this really tense moment then, where nobody moves. Rebekah stares at Stefan, who shrugs and stares at Caroline, who finds herself staring at Klaus.

But they're just wasting time standing there, so, "Well?" Her frustration gets the best of her. This isn't even her problem, and yet here she is, possibly saving their lives and ...

"Doesn't matter. We can't die." Rebekah looks over her shoulder, eyes narrowing suspiciously at her brother.

Stefan shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other, and Caroline grabs the moment, because she just needs _some _ground here to stand on!

"But Stefan can."

And that does it (finally).

... ... ...

Rebekah looks murderous as she pushes her way through the crowd, stomping on toes and whipping her beads. Stefan reaches for her hand, pulling her back to walk with him.

"Don't tip 'em off," he says, slinging an arm casually around her shoulders.

Rebekah mumbles something under her breath, but Caroline ignores her. Honestly, she doesn't think she's ever been around Rebekah when she wasn't complaining.

Seriously, these Originals. 1000 years old, and they're just a bunch of big babies.

"You better not get us killed," Rebekah snaps at Caroline, glancing over her shoulder. Klaus' hand is on Rebekah's shoulder, his mouth near her ear, and with a dramatic sigh, she relents.

"You can't die," Caroline mimics. She _knows _she shouldn't; if there's one Original _not _to antagonize, it's Rebekah, but she just can't help it. She's never gotten along with Rebekah, and now it's just even worse. If Rebekah thinks she's in competition now for 'her men' — well she can keep them! All to herself, Caroline wouldn't put up too much of a fuss!

(She's in this mess _because _of them, specifically, anyway.)

Rebekah's eyes narrow, but she doesn't say anything more.

Caroline doesn't even attempt to hide her satisfaction.

... ... ...

Caroline is the first one to make it outside.

She's more or less _forced _outside, by Rebekah of course, to check to see if the coast is clear. She's not even entirely sure what she's looking for, but she doesn't see any men in pinstriped suits with revolvers or anything like that, so she motions (discretely) behind her back for Klaus and Rebekah and Stefan that it's safe.

"Now what?" She blocks Klaus' path as he tries to side step her, and folds her arms defiantly.

"Now what?" she repeats. "If they know that you're here, we can't go back to Stefan's apartment. They'll probably be there too, if they haven't put a watch on it already."

Rebekah shrugs. "Our place. Stefan practically lives there anyway."

Um, okay, _no. _Caroline is _not _going to be staying at Klaus' _house. _No, no, no. That's a no go, Jerry.

"I'm not so sure that's a good—"

Rebekah cuts her off, red lips twisted into a faint smile. "Have a better idea?"

No, she doesn't. And she's sure that Rebekah's really only speaking on behalf of Stefan, but whatever. Her and Stefan are now part of a packaged deal. Sort of.

"No..."

"No it's fine, Caroline," Stefan speaks up. "It's just temporary. We'll take care of it—" he motions between himself and Klaus, "—and we'll be back in no time."

His hand is on her shoulder now, feeling heavy as if he's weighing her down. She shoots daggers at it, as if the power of her mind will convey her irritation. "Trust me, baby doll."

"Do you really think it's necessary though? I mean, we're _vampires._"

Because really, of _all _the times that this can happen, it happens _now_? Right when she finds herself stuck here with them, for who knows how long...

"And they're vampire _hunters. _This is what happens when you befriend the Ripper," Rebekah shrugs. Her attitude is so nonchalant that it physically rates on Caroline's nerves.

1920's Rebekah is just as flighty as 2012 Rebekah.

But she's right, and Caroline has no ground to stand on. So, she folds her arms and sighs (trying for all the world to _not _come off like a whiny petulant little child).

"Fine."

Rebekah nods, turning to face her brother. "Good. Then it's settled; you'll stay with us until the threat is taken care of." And Caroline doesn't need to use her imagination to know what that means.

She certainly won't be participating in it.

Then, with a flip of her coiffed hair, Rebekah turns on her heel. "Now, let's get some _real _food." She tosses a look over her shoulder; coy, seductive, _knowing. _"I'm simply _famished._"

And crap, _feeding_... she has a feeling blood bags aren't the go-to solution here (and an equally strong feeling that Stefan would laugh in her face if she suggested doing some bunny hunting).

And then, as if the night can't even get any worse, her heart drops to her toes when she considers who she's with; the Originals — feeding to kill is sort of their thing.

So for the second time that night, she's in a word: screwed.

... ... ...

_"Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck, some nights I call it a draw.  
Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle, some nights I wish they'd just fall off."_

- Fun: Some Nights -

* * *

A/N: Soooo surprise! Be honest: who forgot about this story! Or had just given up on it?

I sincerely apologize for the delay. I lost sight of where I wanted this story to go, and I couldn't settle with just writing anything, so I've spent like, forever brainstorming and trying to figure out my plot direction and stuff. I was watching 'The End of the Affair' last week (again), and it finally hit me!

I seriously cannot believe the response my one little introductory chapter produced! For anyone I couldn't reply to personally, thank you so, so much for taking the time to review! I had NO idea people would like this story. I was really close to just letting it hang for a while, because there are so many 1920's Klaroline in Chicago fics out there, but the response to the idea of the story has just been too convincing!

Oh, and I basically referenced canon up to 3x15. Disregard the show after that.

So, with that said, please review, leave me some feedback on the direction, character development! I promise I won't make you wait another year for an update again!

Oh, and one more thing (promise!): I rarely do dedications, but this very much calls for one: to InuKag808 — for reminding me that I always have someone to write for.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey all; this chapter is undergoing extreme edits. I will repost as soon as I'm happy with it. Check back periodically for progress.


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